Witch
by ysse
Summary: A fairytale (or two) retold.


A fairytale (or two) retold.

Written for Jae W. for Yuletide 2005.

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><p>I know how you came to be here.<p>

You traveled to the southernmost town of the land once called the Kingdom of Mer Caelin, the greatest of the Seven Kingdoms, went further south for three more days, crossed the river of Shinoa, walked another day, and came to what people call Thorn Forest. It had another name, once upon a time, but say Thorn Forest and everyone knows of which forest you speak. It is composed mostly of giant trees with equally giant, razor-sharp thorns.

You came here because you heard legends claim that, somewhere in Mer Caelin, hidden in another, far more secret forest, the Castle of Mer Caelin still stands. Many a poor soul has braved this forest to seek its location, only to turn back, broken and bleeding. Not only penniless fortune hunters, but great kings and princes from far-away lands. For, as the legends have it, Mer Caelin's greatest treasure lies in the uppermost room of its tallest tower. They say Princess Aurora, fairest flower in the Seven Kingdoms, still sleeps there, forever young and beautiful. Aurora, blessed by twelve good fairies, cursed by an evil one, and heir to the throne of Mer Caelin. And only the Witch of Thorn Forest knows where the Castle of Mer Caelin lies.

I have heard what people say about her. People do not watch their tongues in front of stone statues; there is no need. But stone ears still hear, stone eyes still see, and we remember better than those who still wear flesh and bone. But you, too, will learn this soon enough. That is, if she allows you to stay.

Some say she is mad. Some say she is evil. Still others, more charitably, say she is simply very old and bitter. She spends her days weaving spells to keep people away, to make you lose your way in the forest, fall to your death in the river or from the cliffs. She will not help you of her own volition, and will most likely turn you to stone at your slightest misstep. But she is bound, as all are in the Kingdom, and if you ask the right question in the proper manner, she is compelled to answer.

I have been here for what seems like an eternity. I was the first, and I have lost track of how many have fallen here, how many others never even made it this far. You must have done better than most, been more mannerly. Perhaps, as I said, she will permit you to stay. It would be good to have a companion again, even one still and silent. New folk give me hope, I suppose.

I should tell you my name, who I am, who I had been, while I still have the chance. Though I doubt it will do either of us any good. I doubt anyone is still around to remember. But you must have heard the stories, at the very least some fragments of them, or you would not be here. Thorn Forest is far too wide, its defenses too varied, for people to stumble upon the Witch's hut by accident.

Oh, yes, my name. I was called Lyra. I was the Queen's Minstrel once, her favorite. The Queen always said Minstrels should never be part of the song, should stay out of the story. And yet I am here, by her behest. Do not think I am a victim here or that, like you, I was lured by vague promises of untold wealth and happiness. I simply wished to see how this story would end, if it ever does, and this was the only way.

And the Queen was always good to me.

But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes, the Witch.

Understand that there has always been a traditional, if somewhat contrary, relationship between Witches and Queens in Mer Caelin. It is whispered that, not long after she was married, the Queen Mother wished for a child with hair black as night, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow. It is said that a passing Witch heard her and, on a whim, granted her wish. It is also whispered that, as a child, the present Queen had been cursed by a Witch to wander the forest, lost, for a year. When that was not enough, she was poisoned with an apple, falling into a deathlike sleep. She slept in a glass coffin until a foreign prince from an impoverished kingdom, poaching upon the forests of Mer Caelin, tripped over her, and ended her unnatural rest.

The other, lesser, Minstrels always claim it was True Love that had woken our Queen, that saved her, and truly this makes for a prettier tale. The Queen preferred my version, however. Only true talent, she used to say, can make Truth sound like Poetry.

There have always been Witches in Mer Caelin, just as there have always been Queens. Though how they came into the story is less clear than the legends regarding the monarchy.

It is said that thirteen fairies, twelve good and one evil, came to Aurora's christening to shower her with twelve blessings and a single curse. Whether or not this is true, I can not say. All I can say for certain is that, on the morning of her sixteenth birthday and the eve of her engagement, Princess Aurora was found in the uppermost chamber of the Castle's tallest tower, asleep as if dead, her finger pricked by the needle of an unfamiliar spinning wheel. When she would not waken, her father the King fell ill with grieving. On the other hand, her mother the Queen sent forth her soldiers to search for the Witch.

When I first came to the Castle, Aurora had already been ensorcelled for two years. It was only after six more years of searching that the Witch was finally found.

When the soldiers reported the Witch's location, finally, the Queen locked herself in the Queen Mother's rooms for a fortnight. The rooms had been cleared after the Queen Mother's death, and all that remained there was a single mirror that the Queen forbade anyone to ever touch. She went alone, though the chambermaids would later claim they could hear more than one voice coming from within. When the Queen finally came out again, she called for me and asked if I would be willing to grant her a favor. She is my Queen, yet she asked this of me so humbly. She is my Queen, though even had she not been, I would still have agreed.

For me, the tale is all that matters.

We journeyed long, but the roads were easier then, the Forest of Thorns had not spread so wide. The Queen gave her grooms impeccable directions. It did not matter how obscure the forks or how twisted the pathways, our path never strayed, our pace never faltered. Sometime on the fourth night we had to abandon our carriages, our horses, and continue on foot.

We did not stop to rest; the Queen would not allow it. We walked on and on, in the darkness, in the mud, until, finally, we came to a tiny hut.

When I say tiny, I do not mean it figuratively, to poetically contrast it with the enormous castle that housed the throne of Mer Caelin. I say tiny and mean exactly that. It was so miniscule only children could have walked inside without having to bend their backs or bow their heads. Children, or perhaps very small men.

The Queen sent me ahead to knock. I had agreed to the task beforehand and knew what I must do.

The Witch came out, stooped with age and dressed in rags. I bowed low and relayed my Queen's request.

There is a traditional, uneasy relationship between the Queens and the Witches of Mer Caelin, and when the Queen requests an audience, the Witch must grant it. This is also true when it is the Witch that does the asking, though I doubt that one ever has.

Wishes, however, are another thing entirely.

"I wish to have my daughter returned," the Queen told the Witch, without preamble, as soon as they stood face to face.

The crone's lips twisted; in annoyance, perhaps, at being disturbed, or at the imperious tone of her Majesty.

It is always wise to tread carefully around Witches.

"You _have_ your daughter," the Witch replied. "At least, all of her that is of any use to you."

"Her people need her," the Queen said next. "Her father is ill and her kingdom is failing."

Something flickered through the Witch's eyes, which were as blue as star sapphires. "I cannot help you," the Witch said. "I will not. Leave and do not return lest harm befall you. I do not lightly forgive trespasses into my forest." She turned to walk back to the hut.

The Queen did not retreat. Instead, she took a dagger out from some secret place. The gasps of my fellow attendants made the Witch turn around, slit-eyes widening impossibly round as the Queen sliced the blade across her own palm.

"No!" I thought at first it was I who shouted, but it was the Witch, her eyes almost fearful.

The Queen turned her wounded palm outward to the Witch and began to speak. "Night, snow, and blood," she chanted. "Night, snow, and blood, and blood is the strongest of all." I remember blinking in surprise. Our Queen was casting a blood spell, the strongest of spells, when I had not even known her to cast the smallest protection charm. "Blood to blood, I call you," she continued, grimly. "Blood to blood, we are bound." Then, she flicked her hand at the Witch, spattering her with blood.

I do not believe any of us had an idea of what to expect, but certainly none of us could have ever predicted what would happen next.

The Witch fell to the ground, screaming.

It was as if watching a cake bake and rise through a glass oven door, how her body started melting, shifting, changing. We watched, transfixed, as the Witch continued to struggle and scream.

None of us had ever suspected our Queen of having this sort of power.

It was a fiercesome battle, but in the end blood won. I had only seen her from her portraits-her tower room is always heavily guarded-but I had no doubt who was now standing before the Queen. Princess Aurora, naked and shivering, spitting in fury, like a wild kitten.

She was far more beautiful than all the stories would have you believe. Truly, Mer Caelin's minstrels were sorely lacking in skill.

I stepped forward and tried to offer her my cloak, but the Princess would have none of it and slapped me away.

"A blood spell," she sneered at the Queen. "You, who condemned your own mother to death for using sorcery. What will your subjects say, Your Majesty, in the face of such hypocrisy?"

"And what of you," returned the Queen, calmly, "who would prefer to be naked than accept a kindness? Who would destroy her kingdom from sheer obstinacy?"

"Spare me the dramatics, Mother," Aurora snapped. "I'm sure you're doing an excellent job of keeping the peasants happy."

The Queen's face remained impassive. "You are the heir of Mer Caelin," she said, "and instead of fulfilling your duty, you hide from it. You are a poor princess, 'tis true, but you are the only one we have."

Aurora snorted. "And my duty is what?" she returned. "To marry some dolt who has nothing to commend him but the number of coins in his coffers and the ability to give me a daughter to rule after me? To enslave myself to feed people who refuse to feed themselves?"

"They are your people and they have served you well," defended the Queen. "And they will continue to serve you well. They are willing to fulfill theirobligations. They are blameless."

"And who would you have me blame, Mother?" demanded Aurora. "Aside, that is, from you?" Her look turned mocking. "Let me guess, you will now make some grand speech about how Grandmamma has corrupted me, ensorcelled my heart, and turned your only daughter against you and Mer Caelin's heir against her kingdom? She has been dead these ten years, Mother. How long can you keep blaming her for your failures?"

She sneered again, and it was a wonderment how she, so beautiful, could have an expression so ugly.

"I do not understand this outrage. Did you not do this yourself? Run away to the forest, flee to avoid your responsibility? Was this not the very same hut you chose to hide in? I had thought you would appreciate the irony. And did you not marry the first man you met in an attempt to thwart your destiny? Was it fortune or misfortune that Father turned out to be prince instead of woodsman, as you had believed him to be? You were eager enough to abandon Mer Caelin then. And now you use a blood spell on your own child to force her to do your bidding." She inclined her head, in challenge and curiosity. "Grandmamma told me you would not be taught in the Ways, that you refused. How then—"

"You are a fool," the Queen interrupted, fiercely, furiously. She took a breath to regain her composure. Her gaze turned far away, rueful. "For my Mother, hearts were playthings," she continued, more softly. "She wanted a beautiful child, the most beautiful little girl in the world, to do justice to her own beauty. So she called on snow and night and blood, and she made one. Unfortunately, she forgot that beautiful children sometimes grow to be beautiful adults. She decided then that she did not want me after all." The Queen is far older than she seems and has been searching for her daughter for years but I never knew before that she could look so tired. "She only cared for herself. She never loved you."

"Oh, and I suppose you do?" Aurora continued to mock her Mother. "And yet you hunt me down, use a blood spell to render me powerless."

"Everything else would have failed," her Majesty rejoined. "She taught you too well. But blood spells are still ruled by blood, and blood showed me the way." She could not touch Aurora or the spell would have been broken. Instead she stood just an arm's length away. She sighed, shaking her head sadly. "You ask how I can use the blood spell when I am untaught? Because I was one myself, my darling. I still am. Yes, I ran, I do not blame you for that. It was the one thing I chose to do, of my own free will. I had a year of freedom. Then she found me, cast that spell, stole my freedom from me with an apple. Your father was a good man and I grew to love him, but... I had hoped for better for you."

She sighed yet again. "We are all bound, by our destinies, and our actions. You are an intelligent child. You should know, better than most, how this works. If she had truly loved you, she would have taught you better still. Or she would have taught you other things, or, perhaps, taught you nothing at all. Anything, anything but this.

"You said you wanted escape, that you did this to be free. Instead, you are trapped, irrevocably, completely. And the most terrible, most laughable thing is, you threw the spell yourself. _You_ have doomed yourself."

Aurora sniffed derisively but the Queen continued, grimly.

"Your corporeal body lies in the uppermost chamber of the tallest tower of the castle, asleep. For years, the winds have carried the news. Someday, someone will solve the riddle, find the key, learn your true name. Someone will come someday—"

"Someone of _my_ choosing," Aurora interjected, triumphantly. "Not yours. I made the rules, set the conditions."

"Someone will come," the Queen repeated, and her words rang like a curse. "And when he is done jumping through your hoops, when he has fulfilled your conditions, broken your spell, he will _own_ you. And you will have no choice. You will _never_ again have a choice." She laughed, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "At least, when I tried to run away, I was wise enough to use my legs."

She took off her crown, placed it on the ground before Aurora. "You are my daughter, and I love you. Love is stronger than time, stronger even than blood spells. Call it a blessing or a curse, it still belongs to you. You are the heir of Mer Caelin. Your kingdom will wait for you."

She turned then, and walked away, leaving me behind. To break the circle, to free Aurora after enough time had passed. She had told me what she planned, and had asked for my aid, warning that Aurora would be angry, would try to harm me, but vowing to protect me.

I do not doubt she made it happen, that she succeeded; I am still here despite Aurora's countless attacks. But how I would have loved to have seen it with my own eyes. An entire kingdom asleep, oh the songs I could have written about it! But I chose to stay here. Because she asked. And because I wish to see how the story ends.

Or if it ever will.

I spend my days alone, in silence. Lately, the Forest of Thorns has become too thick for even birds and animals. I find it amazing that you even made it this far.

I hope she lets you stay, I do.

Aurora? She spends most days inside the hut, weaving spells and brewing potions. She makes the forest grow, and she sets traps, and she prepares for her destiny.

She is bound, as we all are. She knows this as surely as I do.

Someday, her prince will come.

THE END

© JCSA 2005


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